In more than one conversation, I've been asked what lead me from Christianity to Wicca. With the Christians I've met before, and even to some extent on this board, it's frequently been assumed that something "terrible" happened. I've been asked "What drove you away from Christ?" or similar questions, more times than I would be able to count on all of my fingers and toes!

I see little or no difference between Jesus and Kernunos. That statement suprises Wiccans and Christians alike, but it suits me.

All Gods are the same God, by different names? To many Christians, this view is insupportable: they feel that their God is the only true God, and any other entity that a human being may call "a god" is either a man-made idol, or a demonically inspired deception. They feel that only the God of the Judeo-Christian Bible exists: or, to quote the Preacher, "all else is vanity, and vexation of spirit." (Ecclesiastes, several citations, KJV)

In the context of this discussion, that's not just a throwaway quote. The second half of that phrase is interesting: "vexation of spirit." Due to the imprecision of Hebrew-English meanings, it could also be translated as "Chasing the Wind." To my view, Humanity has been chasing this particular wind since the first human who looked around, and took a moment to wonder how he or she got here--and I know I chased the wind for the first twenty-three years of my life.

I cannot, in a single post, explain my beliefs to you--indeed, I cannot, in one post, explain them at all, unless we want the post to be several hundred pages long! Just telling you my beliefs will make little or no sense whatsoever, unless I also explain how I came to those beliefs. If you want, you can call this my "testimony," or maybe my version of "Pilgrim's Progress." But it's really nothing of the sort. This is my letter to each and every one of you, and--in a sense--to all of Christendom, all of Wicca, and most especially to whenever Wiccans and Christians interact with each other.

There are several things that I do not want this post, or this series, to be. I don't want these threads to turn into some form of sermon--we all get enough of that, for good or for ill. I don't want to make these threads some deep and involved diatribe against Christianity, though there are problems in the current Christian sub-section that I came out of. I don't want to make a substantial critique of Wicca, though there are some issues there that I will be mentioning. And I don't want this to be a complex commentary on twentieth-century, post-Modern culture, though there are some issues there as well. Instead, I want this to be something personal--from my heart to yours.

Come sit by my fire, friends, and be at peace for a while. Help yourself to the marshmallows--the chocolate bars and graham crackers are right over there. I've got mulled cider, and maybe a small bottle of something to fortify it with, for those who indulge. Sit down and relax, friends, and get comfortable, for this may take a while.

I've come to tell you a story....

I was born three years before the first Apollo mission to the moon, three months before Star Trek premiered on American television, and about three weeks after my due date. There were some setbacks right away--I was in an oxygen tent for several hours, and without my glasses I'm as blind as the proverbial bat because of it.

You might say that I was "somewhat" precocious as a child--and you might also say that an aircraft carrier is "somewhat" large-ish, as ships go. I was two when my mother walked into the living room to see me with one of my father's college textbooks in my lap. She asked me what I was doing, and I said "Reading"--then proceeded to read to her from it. At five years of age, I walked into kindergarten and my teacher told us about the "magic box" on the wall--and I then explained to my teacher what an intercom was, and how it worked. Before I was seven I had read the Hobbit, the Lord of the Rings, the Chronicles of Narnia (the usual suspects), but I also read--literally from A to Z--both our home encyclopedia and our dictionary. (For those of you who get interested, I advise against it--the plot is quite choppy.... )

For all of this, I was not placed into any sort of accelerated program in school. Remember, folks, this was the 1970s--"mainstream" was the educational buzzword of the day, and my parents believed the bilge (my opinion) that the school administrators told them about "Oh, he needs to socialize with his peer group." The only problem was that any potential "peer group" that I would have had anything in common with was, at that time, in college. But such was the educational theory of the time that I was placed in normal classes and left to vegetate.

Oh, did I mention ADHD? Yeppers, I was diagnosed as "hyperactive" at age seven. So here you have a young kid, bored out of his skull, and with far too much energy for him to hope to control. I was the poster-child for homeschooling before "homeschooling" was even a word in the mainstream vocabulary: and it's unfortunate that homeschooling was a word that my parents had never heard of.

I started getting in trouble at a relatively early age. Truth to tell, I wasn't mean-spirited, and I wasn't really trying to be disruptive. I simply had a boundless curiosity and energy, less than the average diligence to think through the consequences of my actions, and a total lack of ability to keep my mouth shut. I had a brother who was one year ahead of me in school, so I was constantly getting "Why can't you be more like your brother" from my teachers, and even occasionally from my parents.

But I didn't know how to control my disruptive behavior, and lectures about how "bad" I was being didn't help. There were other events, but the details are more sordid than sensational. Suffice it to say that by the time I was fourteen, I was in foster care, drinking on a regular basis, and using some fairly serious drugs on a slightly less than regular basis. I had literally "failed" at everything that I had set my hand to...my parents had placed me in foster care because they could no longer handle me, so I even saw it that I had "failed" as a kid. Yeah, I know, it's not a rational belief--but I wasn't exactly rational at that time, even for a teenager.

The drugs and booze were fairly regular for the next ten years. :shrug: And I tried everything. I gave my life to Christ...I went to Alcoholics Anonymous/Narcotics Anonymous meetings...I worked with the pastor of our church, and then later with the folks at Bob Jones.... Nothing seemed to work.

Part of the problem was that I would not tell most people how bad the drinking and drug use were, or how carefully I worked to hide it. I tried to keep my usage within strict limits, but I got more "affected" than I planned to one day at Bob Jones--I managed to convince the doctor at the hospital that it was a migraine headache. My entire life, at that point, was a deception, but I was the most deceived person of all. The biggest part of my problem was the basic world-view that Christ was supposed to be in control of my life.

It was in this state, I got kicked out of BJU, lived for a while with (and got engaged to) a lady who was also a drug and alcohol counselor, hit bottom, broke up with my fiancee, and wound up bouncing back and forth between the homeless shelters and the mental hospital.

Four trips to the "Laughing Academy," and nine months on the street later, I decided I'd had enough. I managed to get (and keep) a good job, got myself an apartment, and even started going back to church. Hey, I was doing well, I thought--I was doing so well that I celebrated my first paycheck with a trip to the local dealer.

I started "muling"--driving a car from one state to another, with no questions asked about what's in the trunk (same as "boot," Lottie). The money was good, my own drugs were deeply discounted or free, and I had plenty left over for the liquor store.

That was my life--and I cannot express how tired I was of it.

I started thinking on June 18, 1989--the day before my birthday. It was Sunday, so I decided I'd go to church--and left just as dissatisfied and confused as I was.

Let's have a bit of a footnote here. One of the main principles of Alcoholics anonymous, or any 12-step program, is the first step: "We acknowledged that we were powereless over our addiction...." Additionally, one of the big doctrines that I had gotten from my branch of Christianity was that I was to give my life to Christ--that he was supposed to be in control.

So over the years, I had tried--repeatedly. The problem was, every time I got up off my knees, I was still in the hot seat. I was the one who had to make the decisions...and I had just told God I could not make them, that he would have to. The two biggest parts of my spiritual "path" were telling me to abdicate responsibility for my actions!

Yes, I now know that this was a lack of understanding on my part, but at that time I was against the wall, and I was ready to give up. I could not see past the dichotomy that I was caught in: either abdicate the responsibility for my life and give it to God, or take responsibility for my life--and tell God "I'm in control."

All I saw then was that I'd tried it God's way for twenty-three years--I was going to try it my way now.

I flushed my stash down the commode, packed up what I wanted to take with me, called the landlord and told him "If it's still in the apartment, it's yours," and walked out--walked out on my house, my job, my roommate, my friends, my family, and--as I saw it then--walked out on God.

Now, I bet you can guess what happened next. I become Wiccan, breeze through withdrawl, get a good job, meet a glamorous movie-star type, and--all because of my Wiccan faith, of course--I have the world on a string, right?

Don't you believe it, bunkie!

About all I remember from withdrawl is dry heaves, hallucinations, and muscle cramps that go from your toes to your scalp and hit everywhere in between. I spent two weeks in a fever-dream of agony, and fortunately remember little. Withdrawl is the closest I have ever been to hell, and it's the closest I want to ever be--I literally spent half my time wishing I would just die, and the other half convinced that I already had.

I drifted for a while, but not for long. I was still in fairly rough shape when I got to where I was going...a Salvation Army station in Greenville, SC. I spent about a year there, studying Wicca (and keeping my books well hid, I assure you!), gaining my strength, and learning how to believe in myself--even just a little bit.

That was the most important change I have ever made in my life. By taking responsibility for myself, I have not only been able to quit the drugs and the abusive use of alcohol (fourteen years, as of this June), but also to quit smoking. I've learned the limits of my strength, and I've learned when something is beyond it.

But then some strange things started happening. I was entrusted with being the "resident manager" of the men's lodgings at the Salvation Army. I was being given responsibility for more than myself...and I wasn't lousing it up. I had--I don't know what you'd call it, "developed," "acquired," or "been granted"--an internal attitude of peace. I had people pointing to me as an "example" Christian--and I was quite open about the fact that I was Wiccan!

OK, I could pass off most of this as confusion on the part of the people who were making comparisons. After all, I was in a Salvation Army, which is not precisely known as being a hang-out of the intellectually elite.

And I'll admit that the comparisons did not set well, at that time. I was bitter. I blamed Christianity--and to some extent, the Christian God--for "allowing" me to wallow in that state for so long. And I still had some issues from that time--mainly a fear of rejection, and an abject inability to take the lead if someone else would make the decision for me.

A few years passed. I got married, we had a little girl, I got back in contact with my family, things were going great...and my wife and I separated.

Hmm, maybe I'd better provide the background on that last. When I met the woman who would become my wife, she had issues of her own--including an abusive, unfaithful, and generally despicable ex-husband. I mean, this man brought home gonnorhea when she was eight months pregnant with their child! She assumed that I was going to be another one like him--abusive, unfaithful, and unreliable--and basicaly made sure that she was going be in control.

At the same time, I had all those "rejection" issues from my childhood and early adult years, so I would generally bend over backwards to please anyone--especially her. Truth to tell, if I had any shred of spine, you certainly could not have seen it in my behavior!

So, she was a shrew, I was completely henpecked, and neither of us was happy. In all honesty, separating and facing the very real possibility of divorce was probably the second best thing that happened to me--it forced me to grow some backbone.

She went to a counselor, I grew a spine, and we eventually reconciled. Since that time, we've done well together--oh, to be sure we have our spats, but we've both grown to maturity.

Well, my friends, that's about it. We're back around the fire. The last of the s'mores is long gone, and the fire itself has burned down to coals and ash. The stars wheel above our heads in their silent Spiral Dance, and we sit here with each other.

And no doubt some of you are sitting there thinking, "OK, What's the point?"

I did not tell you the above story to garner sympathy, respect, admiration, or anything else. I shared my story with you so that you have some idea of who I am, and some idea of where the ideas that I come up with are coming from.

In my life, I've seen far more from adversity, privation, and want than I have from plenty; and I have learned how to strengthen others who are poor in spirit.

I've experienced more grief than gladness; and I have both learned to mourn, and learned to comfort others who mourn.

I have been the victim of authority and power abused; I have learned meekness.

I have suffered the slow, dessicated starvation of wrong-doing--both as victim, and as perpetrator--and so I hunger and thirst after righteousness.

I have faced within myself that cold inhumanity that lacks mercy, and so I have learned to show mercy to others.

I have seen the depths of my own soul when I was sunk into depravity; I cannot tell you certainly that I am "pure of spirit," for you would have every right to disbelieve. Let my actions speak for me, and judge for yourself.

I have been both the agressor, and the victim, of strife, and he who is the agressor is the victim twice. I have learned the value of peace, and I offer peace to those around me, in as much as they will allow me to.

I will not say that I am perfect, because I most definitely am not. Nor will I say that I have been granted any great spiritual gift, prophecy, vision, or power; what I have learned, and what I have seen, is within the reach of any who choose to see. There is nothing "supernatural" to my knowledge, my belief, or to my power, and I claim no "authority" over any person here.

I do not offer Divine Guidance or Inspiration.Instead, what I offer is the honest, thoughtful insight of a person who has seen some things, and who has learned a lesson or two in the proverbial "School of Hard Knocks."

Justin

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